SHADOW OF THE PAST
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Chapter 8: Shadows of the Past .
The grand ballroom of the Harrington Gala was a masterpiece of excess. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light across velvet-draped walls, and champagne flowed like water in the hands of the elite. Conversations were laced with false pleasantries, each one a quiet battle for power masked behind polite smiles.
Zane leaned lazily against the bar, his whiskey swirling in slow circles. His usual smirk was in place, but his jaw was tight. This gala was a joke. The same people, the same fake conversations. The same suffocating presence of his father, Richard Harrington, dictating who mattered and who didn't.
Across the room, Vincent Graves stood like a shadow of defiance. Perfectly composed in his tailored tuxedo, he was an outsider in a den of legacy heirs—but he looked utterly unbothered. His mere presence in this room was an insult to men like Richard Harrington.
Zane didn't know why, but he found himself watching Vincent more than he should. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something else.
Then, Richard's voice cut through the air. "Vincent Graves. What a surprise."
The room hushed slightly. Zane turned just in time to see his father's eyes sweep over Vincent with thinly veiled contempt. The older man smiled, but it was the kind of smile meant to remind someone of their place.
"Didn't expect to see you here," Richard continued, swirling his wine. "This is an event for legacy and tradition. Not… outsiders."
A few businessmen chuckled quietly.
Zane exhaled sharply, gripping his glass tighter. Here we go.
Vincent, however, was unmoved. He took a slow sip of his drink before answering. "Strange. I was under the impression that this was a gathering of the powerful—not just those lucky enough to be born into it."
A ripple of gasps passed through the small crowd. A younger heir standing nearby actually choked on his champagne.
Zane bit his lip to keep from laughing. Damn. That was good.
But Richard didn't react. Not visibly. His gaze was calculating, like a man used to being challenged but never truly threatened. "Power isn't just about money, Graves. It's about history. Name. Influence."
Zane's older brother, Nathan, chuckled, stepping closer to Richard. "What my father means is that power isn't just what you build—it's who you are. And no matter how much money you make, you'll always be an outsider."
Silence.
The words landed like a sharpened blade, meant to cut deep.
Vincent's expression remained unreadable, but something in his posture shifted—so slight that only someone watching closely would notice.
Zane noticed.
For a brief second, he saw past the perfectly constructed mask.
A younger Vincent, standing outside a high-end restaurant, watching men like Richard and Nathan enjoy meals his family could never afford.
A younger Vincent, sitting at a small kitchen table, listening to his mother apologize for another missed meal.
A younger Vincent, vowing that no one—no one—would ever look down on him again.
Zane had never seen Vincent shaken before. He didn't know why, but something about it made his chest tighten. He wasn't used to relating to Vincent Graves.
But he knew what it felt like to be unwanted.
Richard had looked at him that way countless times—like a disappointment. Like a mistake.
And Zane hated it.
Something inside him snapped.
He stepped forward, slowly, deliberately placing a hand on Vincent's shoulder. The action was casual, but the message was loud.
"Well, at least Vincent actually worked for what he has." Zane's voice was smooth, but there was an unmistakable sharpness beneath it. "Can't say the same for everyone in this room."
Another silence.
Nathan's smirk disappeared. Richard's eyes darkened just slightly.
Vincent turned his head, looking at Zane from the corner of his eye. It was just a second—barely anything—but Zane caught it.
Recognition. Acknowledgment.
It wasn't much.
But it was something.
And for the first time, Zane had the strange feeling that maybe—just maybe—he and Vincent Graves weren't so different after all.
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